


Dirty Little Secret

by LiaIsInLove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Divorce, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Niall-centric, Only mentions the other boys, Pretty much only about Niall, Trich, Trichotillomania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaIsInLove/pseuds/LiaIsInLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall was already the ‘weak’ one. He was the one that everyone thought was cute, and young, and innocent; the one that everyone babied, the one that everyone thought needed protection.  He didn't need another reason for people to treat him like a child.  And he really didn't need for anyone to find out about his best kept and dirtiest secret.</p><p>Possible and slight trigger warnings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I don't want to give too much away here, but I just want to say that it is important in life to keep an open mind and be supportive of others, no matter how foreign or odd whatever it is they are going through is to you. Accept people for who they are and despite their flaws and things that are outside their control. Try to be kind, and nonjudgemental. Remember that no matter what, you are somebody's reason to smile.

Niall was already the ‘weak’ one. He was the one that everyone thought was cute, and young, and innocent; the one that everyone babied, the one that everyone thought needed protection.  Because not only did he look like a flipping twelve year old most days, but he apparently acted like one too.  Or at least, that’s what everyone thought.  He already had enough things making him the baby, aka weakling, of the band and really, he did not need another.  Because everyone knew about his bum knees, and his claustrophobia—why does everyone make it out like it’s a big deal, it’s not even that bad! (Okay, so that’s a total lie, but whatever)  And they knew that he got freaked out in massive crowds (as should any normal person with a basic sense of self preservation). And it’s not exactly hard to spot that he’s just a really fucking late bloomer, and has no facial hair (or chest hair if we’re being honest) and is a pathetically short beanpole with zero muscle mass, which is just a somewhat nicer way of saying that he is a scrawny little fuck. And they knew about his stupid lungs and despite the fact that millions of people have asthma and manage it just fine thank you, that’s another reason for people to treat him like a child. And, he has no effing idea how, but they knew that things don’t really roll of his back as easily as he insists they do, which is crazy because Niall really is a very good actor and nobody in the world could ever be _that_ carefree, it’s just common sense.  And they knew that he alone had his shirt on in the ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ video, and that automatically means that he’s self-conscious (he’s not, honest! (Okay, well, fine!  He is self conscious but who wouldn’t be next to Zayn, the most gorgeous boy alive according to everyone who has ever lived, Liam, with his six pack and absurdly buff muscles, Louis, with more confidence than any one person should be allowed to have, and Harry, who knows he’s hot and flaunts it…?)) And they knew that he’s the unfortunate victim of the Brits who need a scapegoat and try to tear him down because he’s Irish (and proud!) in a sea of Brits and not the strongest singer in the group.  And they even knew that he was a virgin, which for Christ’s fucking sake, why is that anybody’s god damn business but his own, and why on earth would people even open their big fat no good mouths about him and his private matters, and how the hell does anyone know that because it’s not like he’s really told anyone; it’s not exactly something he’d want to brag about as a normal eighteen year old boy, much less an apparent teenage heartthrob (he hasn’t had the time, okay! He’s been busy, and excuse him for not wanting to sleep with some random stranger he barely knows, let alone trusts. And it’s not like he’s had a plethora of dating experiences; he’d only had one proper girlfriend, who was a strong believer in waiting until marriage, and they were just kids who had only been dating for three months before he left for X-Factor).  And of course, they knew that all of the boys, as well as every other fucking person who’s ever given an interview about him, think he’s an innocent fucking snowflake or some shit like that.  

They knew all of that and more. And somehow, that made him need protection.  Like he couldn’t fecking take care of himself.  He’s a legal adult after all.  Perfectly capable of looking after himself. 

Yet for some god knows reason, the whole god damn world treats him like a child.

He’s not complaining, per say, but pretty much any compliment he ever get’s is “Niall’s so adorable!” “Niall’s cute!” “Baby Niall is a perfect innocent snowflake!” “Aw look at little Nialler, he’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen! I just want to take him home and snuggle him.” He’s really not complaining, because it is at least nice, and, really, some of the things the fans say to the other boys are quite disgusting, and he does _not_ want to think about it.  But still…Teenage fangirls, boyband fangirls no less, are not supposed to be all maternal to a boy (man!) their age or older.  They’re supposed to be perverted little shits with raging libidos who are incredibly vocal about the dirty and inappropriate things they want to do to them.  Girls who are younger than him (he once heard a ten year old scream, “Mummy! Can we pretty please take Nialler home with us?  He’s just so little and cute and I want him to be mine!” seconds after screeching that Zayn Malik was the fittest boy that ever walked the earth and she wanted to ravish his body.  No joke; her words, not his.)

And he did have some pride and dignity. He was a man.  Not a child.  A man. And as a man, he would appreciate it if the world would respect his manliness.  But no.  That was just too much to ask for.

So yeah, Niall’s already got all of that going for him and he does not, under any circumstances whatsoever, need another thing added to the enormous list of things that already make him a pathetic little baby. Which is why he can never, ever, not in a million years let the boys or anyone else ever find out about his disgusting need to pull out his own hair.  Because not only is it bizarre, stupid, and weird as fuck, but it’s just plain embarrassing.  Like, really, he honestly thinks he would die if anyone ever found out that he spends hours upon hours hunched over using tweezers to yank out his pubic hair, or that the reason he doesn’t have arm hair is because he cannot stop his fingers from pulling it out in chunks whenever he gets nervous or upset or mad at himself or homesick or anything else.  He would never be able to face the lads again if they knew that his long nightly routines in the bathroom or the behind the curtains of his bunk were spent with a pair of tweezers. And he would never show his face in public ever again.

Niall knew that this compulsion to rid his body of every imperfect out of place hair is not just a character flaw. He knows what he has is called Trichotillomania, an impulse control disorder that makes him compulsively pull out his hair.  But still. He believes that if he were just stronger, better, he could stop himself.  And even if he were to ever admit that he too suffers from Trich, it’s not like anyone would believe him, because what guy pulls out his pubic hair? That’s just revolting.

Niall first began his addiction when he was little and his parents first got divorced.  He was so anxious and nervous all of the time; he was dizzy, and he felt like he was going to be blown away by the wind.  But when he pulled out his eyebrows…It stung.  It hurt.  And that kept him from floating away with the breeze.  It cleared his head.  And he no longer felt like he was spinning out of control.  He was in control, and he was making the nervousness go away.

His parents, in the middle of a custody battle, didn’t notice Niall’s newfound coping techniques until his eyebrows and eyelashes were all gone, and there was a sizeable chunk of hair missing from his head. In fairness to them, it was all rather fast and they were awfully busy.  But they failed to stop the formation of a monster.  And by the time they realized, it was a bit late. At first, they thought it was the divorce, and things would calm down once things were stable. But Niall kept ripping out his hair. He couldn’t stop. Not when he lived with his mam in London and his ma reminded him not to pull every time his fingers crept up to his face.  Not when he lived with his dad and his da told him to stop or else he’d be bald.  Not when the kids at school teased him mercilessly, calling him a freak, and a whole list of considerably crueler things. Not when Greg threatened to pretend not to know him because he was embarrassed to have a little brother who pulled out his eyebrows in class.  Not even when he cried about how much of a freak he was, with no eyebrows or eyelashes, and half of his head nearly bald.  His parents didn’t know what trichotillomania was back then, and neither did he, and didn’t think to talk to a child psychologist, but even if they did, it’s not like they had the money.  So Niall kept pulling.

But eventually, Niall discovered that it made his da and Greg a lot less upset if they didn’t see his missing hair. So Niall developed pull spots, where he could systematically remove all of the hair from his body without anyone noticing. Like his arms, and legs, and the topmost sections of his eyebrows, and, when he got older, his pubic hair. It hadn’t been an easy transition, but he did manage it in the end, so that, while he was pulling just as much, nobody noticed or teased him for it, and for that, he was grateful.

It was not until he read an online article a few years back did he realize that he was not the only freak in the world who had to pull out their hair, and that it wasn’t just him being a freak, but that it was actually a legitimate mental disorder. 

But even though he knew a lot of it was beyond his control, Niall was still ashamed and knew he could never tell anyone his secret. It was just too mortifying. It would be one thing if he pulled hair from his head and eyelashes still.  Because those are the normal spots for trich.  But he’s too afraid to do that now, since it’d be so noticible. And he’s so obsessed with his spots now that it’s not like he could just leave them be and let all of the imperfect hair grow back; he’d just be adding more spots to maintain, and he’s too afraid to do that. And he can’t just stop. He just can’t.

Because every time he sees a hair, it blazes at the front of his mind, and he can’t think about anything other than the fact that it needs to go, and he needs to pull it out, and it consumes his entire brain until the hair is gone.  And once he finds one hair, he finds another, and it doesn’t matter if his skin is scabbed and bleeding from digging at it with his nails or with his tweezers, it doesn’t matter if his fingers and neck are aching—throbbing—and he is exhausted and he really needs to go to bed.  None of that matters because the hair is there, taunting him, and it needs to be removed.  And pulling it out is so calming. He is never calmer than when he is in a trance of hair pulling.  Because once he starts, no matter whether or not he promises to only pull out one, or two, or three more hairs, he zones out and before he knows it, forty five minutes have gone by and all he’s achieved are removing a bunch of really short hairs and a bunch of stinging patches on his skin from where he dug in with his tweezers trying to uproot that elusive hair.  And when he’s upset, nothing grounds him more than the sting of yanking out the hair.  And nothing feels better than pulling out a stubborn hair that has put up a valiant fight against your offense, but finally loses its life to your triumphant tweezers.

Yet all of that is so gross.  And Niall knows that no one will understand. And everyone will make fun of him and call him a freak if they find out.  So Niall knows that the world can and will find out any and everything else about him, and strip away his masculinity by labeling him as a cute child as much as they want, but he can never, ever tell a living soul about his deepest secret. He can never breathe a word. Because Niall can put up with a lot, and he can place a smile on his face for most things, but he could not survive if people were to know what a freak show he really is underneath his ‘adorable’ and ‘innocent’ exterior.  And so, trichotillomania is the one secret Niall will take with him to the grave.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My love and support to all of those with Trichotillomania; you are not alone. 
> 
> To learn more about Trich, please visit http://www.trich.org/
> 
> Please remember to be kind to yourself, patient and compassionate with others, smile, laugh, spend time with people who make you happy, and above all else, remember that "kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see."
> 
> If you ever need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, I'm always here for you. You can find me on tumblr at lia-is-in-love.tumblr.com
> 
> I love you all so much and I hope that each and every one of you find the happiness and peace in life that you deserve.
> 
> Lots of Love,  
> -Lia


End file.
